London Blitz
by elisabetrouge
Summary: England struggles through one of the worst nights of the Blitz so far. Will he pull through? Perhaps if a certain American comes to his rescue. But will this bring them closer or tear them even further apart? Warning for some language


December 29th, 1940

It was quiet, too quiet. England knew his people were enjoying the respite but it had been too long since the last attack. A dark sense of foreboding had the nation on edge. It was completely dark now, the legally mandated blackout in full effect to try and hide the city from the bombers. England knew he should have been home by now, at the very least closer to a shelter, but the streets he knew like the back of his hand were calming. It was always nice to have something familiar to hang on to in the face of chaos.

_Bloody hell, it's cold!_ England said to himself, his breath making a cloud in front of him. It was only a few days after Christmas. Arthur supposed that his people were snug in their homes, spending time with their families in front of the fire. England's mind traveled back to his favorite armchair where a fire, a blanket, a book, and a cup of tea would be waiting for him. He quickly dismissed the thought. His home was too far away for him to get back quickly should something happen. His gut instinct, honed from centuries of war, was telling him to be ready because something was going to happen.

Soon his wanderings brought him to the front of St. Paul's Cathedral. Arthur stopped to take in the view for a moment. That building was special not only to him and his people but to others around the world who had seen it. He hoped that the beautiful cathedral would survive whatever else Hitler decided to throw at them intact. Arthur knew that the morale of his people would be greatly shaken if the monument was destroyed. Taking one last long (not final, he hoped) look, he continued on his way.

That was when he heard it: the unmistakable drone of a large fleet of bombers heading straight for the city he loved so dearly. It was faint now, barely picked up even by his sharp hearing, but Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before they were right over head. Fear and anger fought for dominance in his core but he pushed them both aside. Only clear thinking would get the nation and his people through what he was sure would be hell on earth.

He quickly hurried down street after street in the darkness towards a section of London that was very vulnerable to fire because it was where fabric and paper production was concentrated. Even a small spark could ignite a raging inferno. As he ran the drone grew steadily louder, and he felt sick to his stomach at the sheer size of the fleet. He trudged on though, ready to fight to his last breath to save what he loved. Arthur knew he was taking a huge risk being in the middle of the conflict but he couldn't just sit at home while his city and people fell.

His heart sank as a new noise filled his ears. About a block ahead of him something fell and clunked to the ground. It then started a small fire with a strange green light. An incendiary bomb, he realized, most likely the first of several waves to hit his city. The clunking sound multiplied as the bombs fell, making the once blackened city visible to the enemy.

As he kept running, he spotted a few men ahead of him, trying in vain to put the fires out. They made a valiant effort but there were simply too many. Arthur ran up to one and managed to extinguish the flames. Unfortunately, five more had fallen in the general vicinity in the time it took him to do one. Some caught and started fires on the buildings around him. He kept going forward even though the fires grew in number at an alarming rate, making him sweat from the heat and cough from the smoke.

On and on he ran, drawing ever closer to his destination. _Too slow_, he thought but try as he might he could not make his aching feet move any faster. The small fires were everywhere now but though they were bad enough, Arthur knew they were just the beginning. Stopping for a minute to catch his breath, he heard a far scarier sound than that of clunking incendiary bombs. Silence fell over the city, but not for long. The nation's ears again caught the sound of incoming planes, the number even greater than the first wave.

That's when he heard it: the unmistakable whistling sound of a dropped bomb. As it drew closer to the ground, the sound grew louder and more ominous. Then, for the briefest moment, there was silence again. It was the moment after the lighting and before the thunder. Then it hit, with a sound that would be forever etched in his memory.

Through the darkness and the smoke he saw a building explode, bricks and mortar flying across the empty street. What was left of the structure instantly burst into flames, choking the air with more smoke. Everywhere around Arthur buildings were being destroyed and consumed by an ever growing inferno. He wiped the sweat and smoke out of his eyes, unsure what to do. He would most likely not make it to his destination in one piece, if it even still existed. However, he knew he had to keep going because he knew his people would require help fighting the fires.

Before he could move on, a thick cloud of dark smoke blew his way, bringing on a coughing fit. He fell to his knees, trying to get a breath of fresh air. After a minute he was finally able to take a deep breath, regain his footing, and continue on his way.

Several blocks later he finally arrived at his desired location, and the sight took his breath away. Everything was completely engulfed in flames that reached towards the smoke cloud covered heavens. Ahead Arthur could barely make out two amateur firefighters trying their best to fight the blaze. They looked exhausted but they kept aiming the hose at the flames, using water pumped from the Thames River. Arthur immediately ran to their aide, picking up a section of the hose, keeping the forceful spray aimed at the walls of the fallen structure. On and on they fought the flames, seemingly to no avail. _If I survive this, I never want to see fire again_, the nation thought to himself.

Looking over at the two blokes, Arthur could see that they had nothing left. Raising his voice to be heard over the racket, he yelled, "I'll take it from here, lads! You two find shelter!" Despite their exhaustion, both men protested but Arthur was firm. Eventually they conceded and ran off. Arthur readjusted his grip on the hose. They were only human after all. He on the other hand was a nation which meant he was a lot stronger and had more endurance. Arthur was a lot fresher than them to boot, for they had been there long before he arrived. Bending his knees, he angled the spray higher to reach the upper stories. His heart was close to breaking when he thought about the state of his home. If the damage on this building was multiplied all over the city, then there would soon be nothing left. While he had been fighting the fires around him, bombs had continued to fall all over London. He could barely make out the sounds sometimes over the hose when they were further away but each one was like a knife in his heart.

Just then he heard a plane almost on top of him. Before he had time to react, a bomb was dropped right next to him. Dropping the hose, he turned and jumped, covering his head and neck. The force of the blast brought down the front of the building he had been trying to save. The last thing he heard was the sound of falling bricks.

~~_Le time skip_~~

"Arthur? Arthur?!" Alfred felt his heart break at the sight of his former guardian buried under a pile of rubble. Dust and blood were everywhere and he wasn't moving. "Arthur, no, please…" he whispered before running forward and moving the rubble off the man who had saved him all those years ago, when he was only a child. Damn it, he would return the favor, even if it killed him! Brick by brick more of the battered form of the British nation was exposed. It hurt Alfred so much to see the man who always kept himself so immaculate with ripped clothes soiled by sweat, dirt, blood, and smoke. The nation had been through hell, that much was clear, but whether he had made it out the other side, Alfred wasn't sure.

Finally England was fully uncovered. Alfred knelt by his still body, which lay on his stomach, and leaned down to see if he was breathing. When he felt air come in and out the older nation's nose, he burst into tears. _Thank God_, Alfred thought. Getting up he ran to some medics a block away and brought them to Arthur's side. He watched them carefully move him onto a stretcher and then into an ambulance. Alfred ignored the one medic trying to stop him and slid in next to Arthur. He wasn't leaving the man's side for anything.

It was a slow drive to the temporary hospital that had been set up in one of the few buildings still in good condition. Rubble was everywhere, making the roads almost impassable. Alfred gently held Arthur's hand, his thumb occasionally moving to his wrist to make sure he still had a pulse. He was still unconscious and below the filth was awfully pale. Alfred wished he had a soft towel and some warm water so he could wash his face. Then maybe he could pretend he was merely asleep instead of hovering on the brink of death. _Please wake up_, he silently begged. The ambulance came to a stop and the medics sprang into action, throwing the doors open and whisking him inside. Alfred matched them step for step, keeping hold of Arthur's hand.

Everywhere there were people with horrific injuries. The smell of blood was strong and people were screaming in pain. It made Alfred feel nauseated but he tried to block it out so he could focus on Arthur. He was whisked into place and Alfred was forced to let go of his hand so the medics could work on him. Standing out of the way Alfred bit his lip, suddenly scared that he was going to lose him. More tears threatened to fall but he held them back. He was going to have to be the hero and help Arthur fight for his life. _Come on Arthur, you can do it. You're the nation where the sun never sets, you can pull through this_. Feeling helpless, he put his hands in his pockets and continued his mental pep talk.

Time passed and eventually the medics said they had done everything they could. "The rest is up to him," the main doctor told him in a hushed voice. Alfred pulled up a chair and sat down next to Arthur, taking his hand again.

"Artie, it's up to you now. The nice doctors here have done their job. Now you've gotta do yours." Alfred watched the nation's chest rise and fall, counting each breath as a victory. "That's it, come on Arthur. Breathe for me. Let me see your green eyes, open 'em for me, come on Artie." Alfred kept talking, rubbing circles on England's hand with his thumb. The tears spilled over and Alfred buried his head on Arthur's chest, covered by a blanket. Through it he could hear a steady pulse, stronger than before. "I can hear you, Arthur. I know you're there. Please…" his voice broke "…please wake up."

Suddenly Alfred heard a groan of pain. His head shot up in time to see Arthur shift and open his eyes. They were unfocused at first but when they both focused on him, Alfred knew there were no words to describe the joy that he felt.

"Arthur, you're awake!" He yelled happily, not caring who heard. He gently hugged the older nation then sat back. Arthur tried to speak but ended up having a coughing fit.

"I'll get you some water because I'm the hero! Hang on!" Alfred jumped up and found a nurse who fetched a cup of water and gave it to him. America brought it to England, gently helping him sit up and take a small sip. England swallowed gratefully and took another. His throat felt like it had been rubbed raw. After Alfred laid him back down and took his hand again, Arthur spoke.

"Alfred? I've never…" he took a deep breath "…been more glad to see anyone."

Alfred grinned from ear to ear. "I'm glad you're okay. I thought…I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it."

Arthur managed a small smile. "Can't…get rid of me that easily."

Alfred shook his head. "Only you could survive something like this and still be able to sass."

The Brit squeezed Alfred's hand. "My motto. Keep calm and…carry on."

Alfred squeezed his hand back. "I hope I'm as tough as you someday, Artie."  
A more serious expression darkened the older nation's face. "Is there…anything left?"

Alfred looked solemn. "There's no easy way to say this so I guess I'll just tell you. London was hit hard. Most of the city was consumed by flames or turned into piles of rubble."

Only because Alfred knew the nation so well could he see that he was holding back a lot of pain. He hid it behind a smooth serious expression but it showed in his eyes, a sight that would haunt Alfred forever.

"Oh but guess what?! You'll never guess what made it through the night! That cathedral you like so much, what's it called?"

A small glimmer of hope lit up the Brit's eyes. He whispered, "St. Paul's Cathedral?"

"Yeah, that's it! It's still standing and was barely hurt at all! It's a miracle really because everything else was damaged in one way or another.

A spark that had been missing suddenly returned to the older nation's face. "The cathedral…rises from the ashes. My people and I…will too. We'll get Hitler yet. He…hasn't beaten us."

Alfred looked at him, pride welling in his heart. Barely awake ten minutes and he was all ready to go out again to help his people. Alfred knew he was a strong nation but realized his strength went down to the core. It would take a lot to break down his inner fortitude and stability. He stroked Arthur's hair with his free hand. "You need to rest and recover first, Artie. Hitler can wait. We'll get him together."

Arthur smiled at his former charge. Then a frown took its place as a thought struck him. "I look awful, don't I?"

Alfred had to laugh at that, he couldn't help it. "Arthur, you almost died and you're worried about how you look?! Seriously?!"

Arthur frowned. "Git." He struggled to sit up a little more, letting go of Alfred's hand and refusing Alfred's attempt to help. No matter what Hitler threw at him, he was still the bloody United Kingdom and he could damn well sit up on his own. Once he was comfortable again, he breathed deeply and looked at Alfred. "What…in the name of the Queen are you…doing here anyway?"

Alfred looked confused. "I found you buried underneath that building and brought you here. I saved your life because I'm the hero."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm…well aware…of that. I meant…what brought you here…in the first place? It's not…like you live…right next door."

Alfred rubbed exhaustion out of his eyes, suddenly feeling drained, the day's events catching up with him. "Well I heard on the radio how bad things were getting for you over here and I had to help because that's what heroes do. Plus you saved me when I was a kid so I had to return the favor."

"The bombs have been…dropped almost every night…since the seventh of September. This was the worst of it though…so far. I'm so proud of my people for… holding up as…well as they have. Their…morale may have been shaken but…it is far from broken. But…much as I hate to admit it…we need help."

"Well that's why I'm here" Alfred assured him with a confident smile.

Just then a nurse walked over to America's side and asked in a quiet voice, "Are you Mr. Jones?"

The young nation looked at her. "Yeah that's me."

"I'm sorry to disturb you but you have a phone call. It's very urgent that you take it immediately." She told him before walking away to take care of other patients.

Alfred looked at Arthur, an apologetic grin on his face. "You'll be okay here for a minute? I'll be right back."

"Yes…I'll be fine" Arthur assured him.

Alfred stood up, walking a few steps before whirling back around. "Don't go anywhere!" He joked, grinning madly.

The British nation rolled his eyes, trying to frown but unable to quite hide the grin that threatened to take over his features at his former charge's antics. "I won't."

Alfred gave him a thumbs up and walked to the phone. Picking up the receiver, he said, "Hello?" When he heard the familiar voice of his boss on the other end, he visibly paled, grateful that no one was looking at him. His voice rose as he argued but then it quieted as he realized he couldn't change his boss's mind. He hung up, feelings he didn't quite understand threatening to overwhelm him. Taking a deep breath he came to a decision. Can't let Arthur see me like this. Burying his feelings down deep in his core, he practiced a thumbs up with a wide grin until it felt natural and then turned back to walk to the nation whose heart he was about to break…again.

Coming back into view of the older man, Alfred thought he saw his face brighten just the tiniest bit but dismissed it as a trick of the light.  
"Well you're looking a lot better already so I think my work here is done." Alfred said, keeping a distance between him and Arthur.

Confusion was apparent in the older nation's eyes, though he was trying to hide it. "What are you talking about?" He asked, making an effort to keep his voice strong and steady, though he felt anything but.

"You'll be fine without me, man. I've gotta be a hero other places too. A hero's job is never done, you know!" Alfred said cheerfully, flashing a thumbs up and a wide grin.

Arthur's face reflected his broken heart for the briefest of moments only to then show nothing. "Then leave." He replied, no emotion in his voice. Turning his head so he wouldn't have to look at him, he watched the nurses tending to other patients.

Pain, the likes of which he had only felt one other time in his life, shot through Alfred's heart. Swallowing it, he continued, "I knew you would alright with it! See you around, Arthur!" Taking one last look he turned and walked out without looking back. He didn't stop until he was outside several blocks away. Finding a deserted alleyway he finally let it out. His fists met the partially destroyed wall again and again, tears and screams releasing the hatred he felt for his boss and himself. Damn it, damn it, damn it! The phone call played through again in his head:

"Alfred, where are you?!" His boss's voice inquired in a loud voice, his anger readily apparent.

"Helping Arthur. You know how his home has been bombed repeatedly by Hitler? Well last night was really bad and Arthur almost died. I fortunately was there to save him and get him to a hospital. I'm going to stay and help him get the bastards responsible."

"No! We are still a neutral nation when it comes to this war. What is happening in Europe is none of our concern. You are to come home and stay out of it."

"But sir…"

"Alfred I am your boss and I command you to come home!"

He had hung up after giving him his travel arrangements, his voice and manner leaving no room for argument. Alfred was torn because he knew when it came to the well being of his people, his boss was right to keep his nation out of it. But he hated hurting Arthur…again. He also hated himself for being too much of a coward to tell Arthur the truth about why he couldn't stay and help. Being a hero meant being selfless he knew but why did it have to hurt so much? Helping his people was the right thing to do but doing so meant giving up what he wanted most at that moment: staying and helping Arthur.

His energy spent, he traded punching the wall for leaning against it. A small voice inside him asked, _"Why do you care about Arthur so much?"_

"Because he is…was…my brother and he took care of me when I was small. I may have fought for my independence but I still appreciate what he did for me."

_"Do you really see him that way now?"_ The voice asked quietly.

Alfred had known the answer to that question for a long time but seeing Arthur in such a vulnerable state had clinched it for him. He put his back to the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground curled in a ball, his screams and tears quieting down to muffled sobs.

"No. It's not fair!"

Eventually his sobs subsided and his tears stopped flowing. He took a deep breath and stood up, using the wall for support. Turning to take one last look towards the makeshift hospital-though he was too far away to see it-he sighed and started walking the opposite direction towards his ride home.

Arthur lay in bed, his head and his heart warring inside him. He knew that Alfred didn't mean his casual and flippant change in attitude about the Brit's predicament. The smile may fool others but Arthur could see right through it. Though he wasn't sure, Arthur had a feeling the phone call had been from Alfred's boss commanding him to come home. The younger nation had been very gung ho right beforehand about standing by him in the war against Hitler and Arthur knew it wasn't just his usual bravado. Alfred had meant it. Though his brain knew this full well, his heart felt like it was about to break into a million pieces. Arthur did his best to hold it together for his people's sake, keeping a stiff upper lip, but if he had been able to have his way he would have climbed in bed and never come out.

Despite his best efforts, he felt the tears run down his cheeks. A sob escaped him and before he knew it he was on his side burying his face in the pillow. He cried: for his people, his home, and most of all, for Alfred.

Finally he quieted, wiping his tears. Rolling onto his back again, he dismissed all other thoughts but one. _I will never let anyone close enough to hurt me again_. He rested, gathering his strength for the long and arduous job he had in front of him. Turning his head he saw a window on the far wall. Through it he could make out nothing besides piles of rubble, orange in the glow of the sunset.

Alfred looked out the window of the plane, seeing the water turned orange by the sunset as he left Arthur's destroyed home behind. Before he turned away, two words escaped his lips in a hushed whisper:

"I'm sorry."


End file.
